


The performance of a lifetime

by whorerormovie



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alcohol, Cabaret singer claude, Dare I say that I outdid myself this time, Deepthroating, Dimiclaude Birthday Week (Fire Emblem), M/M, Modern Setting, alternative universe, claude is a TEASE, claude wears a dress, pianist dimitri, there is no plot just porn, very filthy porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26066794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whorerormovie/pseuds/whorerormovie
Summary: His songs are temptation for he is a peccant man, guilty with the art of seduction. His voice is not meant for those of noble heart, oh no, he calls out to those with much darker desires. To those who are ruthless in the search of their own pleasure.There is a man who frequents often and his name is DImitri Alexander Blaiddyd. For those who don’t know about him, he is a man of mystery. Always choosing to sit on a secluded corner away from the common tables, a place negligent of lighting, a place where he blends in with the shadows.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 10
Kudos: 84





	The performance of a lifetime

**Author's Note:**

> This is my submission for day 8 of the dimiclaude birthday week. I’ve always wanted to write about Claude being a cabaret singer so this is very self-indulgent.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Main twitter @whorerormovie // writing twitter @yesclaudeskiii

Thick smoke on lips

Dark alcohol on bitter tongues 

His songs are temptation for he is a peccant man, guilty with the art of seduction. His voice is not meant for those of noble heart, _oh no_ , he calls out to those with much darker desires. To those who are ruthless in the search of their own pleasure. 

There is a man who frequents often and his name is DImitri Alexander Blaiddyd. For those who don’t know about him, he is a man of mystery. Always choosing to sit on a secluded corner away from the common tables, a place negligent of lighting, a place where he blends in with the shadows. Except when a flicker of light is fixated between his lips. The essence of light then turns to ash, adding bits of gray and red to his blue outline. 

Seldom the times when he speaks. Whenever Claude approaches, Dimitri cleverly occupies his tongue with whiskey hoping to numb the words before they arise. If ever he doesn’t have a glass, the alternative has always been a cigarette. The lines of his mouth hard pressed on the tobacco cylinder, waiting for the flame to flicker and repel whatever advancements Claude had in store. 

The interest may not seem mutual but it is. With every performance there is a bouquet of flowers to go along with it, the gifter is for all sake and purposes, anonymous. But Claude knows who they’re from. They’ve always been from Dimitri, his biggest fan. In a way, Claude too is a fan of the world renowned pianist. Many thoughts have been spent pondering about Dimitri’s expert fingers, elongated and skilled in tuning, wondering just how well he’d be able to make him sing at the flex of a finger. 

Lovely thoughts, that’s all they are. Daydreams of pleasantries arouse his mind at day, while visions of the classical musician riles him at night. It is his mystery that kindles the singer’s curiosity. That perfect composure that demands to be undone, and Claude Von Riegan has spent many nights compiling ways to do so. 

It is with intent that his steps carry him up the stairs to a lonesome corner. The showlights follow his trace, basking him in the glowing lights of excellence. His breathy voice pitching when the phrase reaches its end, his voice carrying the load of words in harmony with the guitar. A slow song, each strum of the string concise and full of feeling, adding weight to the meaning of the words.

_“You push me further_

_And I take the blame for the both of us.”_

The patrons lift their glasses as he walks by, cheering his performance as he makes his rounds sauntering through the venue floors. His shirt more unbuttoned than deemed proper showcasing his highlighted collarbones and neck. In his front pocket is a flower, picked and trimmed from the bouquet received prior to the performance. Today’s choice was Dahlias, perfectly presented in a set of twelve, the petals a brimming orange whose tips fade into a whitering white. This is new, then again, every flower gifted is different and new and just as beautiful. 

Dimitri is watching, of course he is. Once he realizes that Claude's eyes are for him alone, he looks away, choosing instead to hide inside an unfinished glass of bourbon.   
  


_“I carry my weight in gold”_

Confident in his stride, the singer approaches the pianist’ table. The song continues with every kick of his step. Each word resonating louder the closer he got, from here he notices the musician tap the fingers of his left hand against the table’s surface, the motions mimicking the play of a piano. Is this how it would look if the song were transcribed to a different instrument? Questions for another night, now it’s time to tip the scales. 

Claude halts his singing. He plucks the drink from Dimitri’s hand and presses it to his lips instead. The imprint of his own lips overlapping the owner’s, an indirect kiss if you will. The harsh drink bleeds over his tongue, the bitter effect makes his throat tightens as it flushes down his throat. He drinks it all in one go, staring defiantly at the man before him. 

This is bold, but perhaps bold is what is needed when his gentler approaches have failed. 

His tongue passes his lips, he tilts the glass over it waiting for the last morsel of bourbon to fall on it. The slow drip of a dollop, his tongue smears the remains over his lips teasingly. With languid strokes of the tongue to line his lips, Dimitri can see the subtle tint of brown that’s being coated to goad him. It seems to be working because he swallowed thickly.

The crowd erupts in a cheer as he settles the glass back down with a wink. And Just like that Claude returns to his act, carrying on like the interaction doesn’t affect him but it does. His throat still burns, the taste of Dimitri, dark and cold fresh on his taste buds, lips tingling with the promise of what would have been his lips on his own. 

Sounding strings begin to die out the closer it gets to closing time. Patrons begin to leave the establishment in hesitant rows, perhaps to carry out their night of debauchery elsewhere. Though there is a single man who is prevented from leaving, a handsome man whose veins are music notes sheathed beneath skin. Claude plunges the flower into the empty glass, creating a centerpiece out of this minimal difference. 

“Your drink is on the house.” He comments, setting his weight on the table as he sits on it. Claude crosses one leg over the other, allowing his legs to hang and block Dimitri’s possible escape. 

“That won’t be necessary.” Dimitri’s voice is deeper than expected, deeper than any bottle of bourbon would be allowed to be. His voice is also coarse and it does things to him, things he’s not willing to admit sober. “I’ve already paid.” He finalizes. 

“Oh darlin’.” A devilish smile. “Then I guess I have to think of another way to make it up to you.”

Dimitri glances away, his fingernails itching the wood. The lines of his lips press into a thin line as the light of his eye bedims by the length of his golden mane, _cute_ . Claude takes out a napkin from the holder and eases it to the gentleman’s way. “How ‘bout a private show as a token of my appreciation to my _secret admirer._ Would you like that, having me all to yourself, darlin’?” 

The expression of shock on his face is just too good. His secret identity is exposed by no other than the man whom he wished to keep it from. 

“You don’t have to say anything, if you want it, simply write your address on this napkin.” As if by magic, Dimitri conjured out a pen from his pocket and scribbled down his address. His penmanship is not as neat as he expected, anyhow, a napkin isn’t really an accommodating medium. 

“At nine, two nights from now.” This time it is Dimitri who speaks. His confidence’s present at the base of his spine because he sits up straight, shoulders taut and proper, as if he were to play on his prized piano. 

He scoops up the napkin and folds it into a square before pressing it against his lips to seal their contract. “At nine.” Claude repeats, all too eager.

And at nine he appears in front of Dimitri’s door. 

He lives in an apartment complex in the nice part of town, as expected from someone as prestigious as him. Claude knocks on the dark wood, his knuckles lightly tapping against the black paint of the door. From the inside the door is being unlocked and moments after he is let inside by the owner. Doused in cologne and dressed to impress in a tailored blue suit, Dimitri offers to take Claude’s long coat. Never one to refuse proper manners, Claude allows the coat to drape off his shoulders for a slow reveal of what he’s wearing underneath. A long black dress that showcases his back elegantly, complimenting the shape of his body with its tightness. It is long sleeved with golden flower decals mounted from the shoulders all the way down to the wrist. Everything else is stripped of decor, nevertheless, the open slits on either side of his legs show the limbs underneath. Toned legs with a hint of body glitter, anything to add to the spectacle that is Claude Von Riegan. Dimitri cannot see it but he is also wearing heels, they are hidden beneath the skirt of the dress as it pools over his feet. He is taller and more confident as he turns to give Dimitri his coat, balancing the weight on two fingers. From this angle Dimitri’s eye can capture the deep v-cut on the front of the singer’s dress that reaches to his midsection in a sharp cut. From the opening, the indents of muscles can be viewed, also the exposed sternum as well as part of his chest. 

Dimitri stands frozen on the spot. 

“Are you not going to take my jacket?” Claude asks, teasing and featherlight. As a rebuttal Dimitri simply clears his throat, his fingers twitching as they come to grasp the coat off Claude’s hands. 

“My apologies, I seem to have been lost in thought.” Of course he was. “Please, make yourself comfortable.” He urged Claude to go into the living space as he tucks his coat away in a closet somewhere. Claude sauntered over to the living room. Truly an enormous space with all the modern commodities one would ever need, if anything, it lacked personal touch. The apartment feels bare, a lack of personality is present with the bland decor choices. Though not all lacks taste, the grand piano that currently sits in the middle of the living room is sleek with black, contrasted only by the white keys. Next to it, the cozy leather bench is wide enough to seat one person. 

Continuing with his inspection, he walks over to the bar area, taking in a mental inventory of the selection. His fingers reached out for the wine to inspect the labels but was stopped short by a hand to his waist. Claude plainly looked at the hand presently on his body with amusement, he saw the fingers trickling down to his hip, and at that, the hand fled away. “Pardon. Could I - could I get you anything?”

The singer smiled at being attended to so carefully, “I’ll try the wine.” His response.

At that, Dimitri opened the bottle and poured Claude a glass of red wine. Red velvet in color, it stirs smoothly within the glass as it is handed over. “My, my, what a gentleman.” The singer comments prior to taking a sip, never breaking eye contact with the other male. 

“You are my guest and it is my duty to attend to your needs.” 

Those words give life to butterflies inside his stomach. The meaning he interprets, the anticipation, he’s willing to turn this into a long night.

“I’m confident you will, darlin’.” Another sip. He leans against the counter, the glass still within his lips. His head turns towards the piano and the view that it brings with it. Within the apartment, one of the walls is replaced with glass, allowing for a good view of the city. City lights converging the nightlife into a masterpiece.

“Play something for me, something that’ll get me in the mood.” The mood for what is not specified, within the context of this visit, Dimitri most likely assumes it’s for singing. There is apprehension at first but Dimitri ends up agreeing.

“Anything in particular?”

“I’m sure you know my preference by now.” 

It takes a moment for the keys to mash and form into a stream of pleasant musical notes. The first couple of presses were a test to tune the instrument because just as the musician needs preparation, so does the instrument.

Dimitri’s playing becomes background music as Claude pours rum into a glass. Fills it just enough to not get up for refills. Claude brings Dimitri the glass and sets it next to the music rack. He looks down to smile at him, a sweet gesture to get Dimitri to relax. 

The music stops.

Those long fingers leave the keyboard and instead, find purchase against the cool feel of the glass. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. Why the dress?” His words were rushed, as if embarrassed to even be asking such a question in the first place. He tries his best to meet Claude’s eyes but his gaze drifts downwards at the slip of the leg provoking him. A drink, he takes a drink of rum to drown his urges.

“It’s pretty and I like pretty things and I happen to look good in pretty things.” A truth. Clothes are simply fabric, he won’t let gender dictate what he should wear and what he shouldn’t. “Dorothea helped me pick this out.” Claude pinched the skirt of the dress and did a minor lift, revealing more of his leg. “She said you might like it.”

Dimitri gulps at that.

“She’s the other cabaret singer, correct? By the sounds of it you two sound close. Are you perhaps dating one another?” Dimitri asks, setting the glass back down. He begins to fiddle with the keys, a distraction on what could potentially be bad news. 

“Dorothea and I? _Oh heavens no_ , she’s my cousin.” A lie. They're not cousins but it’s fun to play pretend just for the laughs. Dimitri looks surprised at the false revelation, so of course Claude has to continue to stir the pot. “Brunettes, green eyes, dashing good looks, vocal talent, it all runs in the family.” Just as lying apparently does. 

Dimitri smiles, “I suppose that makes sense.” 

They continue drinking into the night, what started with one glass has turned into four, or was it six? It’s hard to keep count when one feels so light headed. His words come out somewhat slurred but it only adds to uniqueness to the sound. It is still controlled and comprehensible, with only some alterations here and there.

_“All I can ever be to you is a darkness that we knew_

_And this regret I got accustomed to”_

Dimitri plays with no inhibitions now. He merely lets the music control him, no longer thinking of how he’s seen, and instead lives in the moment carelessly. The tapping of his fingers slows down on the keys when the song demands it, and yet with so much energy that cannot be contained, his body moves with the sway of his hands. 

_“Once it was so right_

_When we were at our height_

_Waiting for you in the hotel at night”  
  
_

Claude closes the lid of the piano. 

_“I knew I hadn't met my match_

_But every moment we could snatch_

_I don't know why I got so attached”_

He mounts the piano, crawling his way over the odd shape of the instrument. Claude switches his stance so that he sits on the edge, legs hovering over the keyboard. Dimitri stops playing because Claude moves those hands away with his ankles as he spreads his legs for Dimitri. His legs slither out from the sides of the dress as he continues to sing words that seem too fitting to the situation. 

_“It's my responsibility_

_You don't owe nothing to me_

_But to walk away, I have no capacity”  
  
_

There’s a hold then on his ankles, fierce and true as they keep his legs further apart. The cloth of his skirt drifts further in between his legs, creasing at the pelvic area where the leg connects to the hip. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Dimitri asks. His throat parched at the sudden dryness. He licks his lips to regain the moisture his lips have lost from the alcohol.

“ ‘m seducin’ you, darlin’.” A cheeky response but nevertheless true. “Isn’t it obvious?” Claude asks, a smile proudly etched on his face as Dimitri’s hands travel upwards. Those fingers spread wider as they gather around his legs, furthering their reach around the supple skin. Squeezing around the calves, his hands toy with him as if he were a piano, expertly pressing without causing any divots. He takes his time learning Claude as if he were a new music sheet. Lots of going back and forth, lots of pressing and feeling what sounds right and what doesn’t. Dimitri goes by what sounds Claude makes, his breathier gasps leading him right where he needs to be. Lips pressing against the curve of the knee, then anteriorly on the thigh before delving into the inner thigh where his tongue would swipe teasing and slick marks. Claude leans back on his forearms, a whine emitting from his lips as Dimitri pinches the flesh of his thigh with his teeth. Thighs tried to clamp around him in reflex but Dimitri deterred that from happening. His big hands held them apart, keeping them spread open and available to the desires of a wicked tongue. This display of strength was a turn on for Claude, and it’s clear to see with the way the dress tents. 

The blonde was ever so near to his privates, his breath hot and ticklish on the sensitive skin. Claude squirms, his legs attempting to close once more to unintentionally cut Dimitri’s fun. Another bite, this one took more out of him. The singer senses more teeth than tongue. His thigh memorizes the shape of teeth, the imprints left behind are proof of the hidden darkness within this man. 

“You’re so mean.” Claude pants as Dimitri pries him open once more. In regretful acknowledgement, he feels kisses being planted on the area, for in the future they will bloom into a lovely set bruises that he will see and reminisce of this moment. 

“Keep your legs spread for me and I won’t have to be.” That authoritative tone, it causes his member to twitch with eagerness. With little else to do but to receive this treatment, Claude lays flat on his back. His hands moving down his torso, toying with his own chest just before reaching the midline. Hands move the lower portion of the dress out of the way, exposing the lace underwear caging his arousal. His hands settle on his thighs, trying his best to keep them apart as requested.

“Yes sir.” 

At the sudden wet sensation his hips jerked up, or at least tried to before Dimitri pinned him down with lips forming a tight seal around his cockhead, this is something Claude did not expect so suddenly. A wet tongue pressing the delicate lines of lace against the sensitive head, he feels the tongue prodding in between the holes, licking up any traces of precum from the source. Dimitri focuseds all his efforts on the head and ignored the rest, it is the most sensitive spot, one he suckles at profoundly, drenching the fabric with his saliva, so much so that it leaks out from the corner of his lips. Claude is thick, with time he feels the tightness of Dimitri’s mouth begin to go slack. Still, his enthusiasm is all the more present, as he has his tongue swirling around the head in circles, dragging the fabric of his underwear over abrasively. It’s too much stimulation, and so, he cries out, his own fingernails digging into his thighs. 

Hot breath at the tip, it’s so wet, Claude can’t help but shiver. The muscles of his abdomen begin to tighten as his cock swells up with need. His breath rattles out of him once he feels the cool air hit his arousal. Dimitri has unsheathed his lips and left him with reckless abandon in the middle of it. This gave some time for Claude to catch his breath, if it kept going he wouldn't have lasted much longer and that would have been embarrassing. Guess that just proves how good of a host Dimitri Alexander Blaiddyd is-

“ _Aaaah._ ” With a flex of the vocal cords he brings out a peart moan. Something pours over him, cold and plentiful, spilling over his thighs, dress and onto the piano where it eventually stains the white of Dimitri’s shirt into burgundy. **Wine**. His cock drenched with it, his underwear soaked in it and it is Dimitri who licks up every drop eagerly. Starting from the base of the shaft, with the upward slide of the tongue it starts to press against the protruding veins, tracing the shape with the tip of his tongue, leaving behind his translucent saliva as he drinks up the wine from his privates. The slurps sound heavenly in his ears as the mouth presses on his legs, taking in the excess of the alcohol and literally becoming drunk on Claude.

Red in the face Claude continues to hype up his moans, his hands foregoing his thighs and moving to caress Dimitri’s head. Claude tries to lean forward, his core feeling weak as Dimitri makes him weak from the waist down. His fingers rake through the long strands of hair, moving the fringe away to better see his handsome face. They make eye contact and maintain it. The pianist gaze is intense, the light blue shade of his eye transitions to a darker shade as he is consumed with lust. Eventually, that lust consumes Claude as well as he is taken into Dimitri’s mouth once again. 

He sucks the wine from the lace encasing his member, the heat of his mouth, it traps him and sucks him in deeper. _It feels good but it could feel better._ Claude pulls him off, long enough to pull his underwear down and release his cock from the confines Dimitri so desperately seems to enjoy. The wet cloth feels tight around his legs, being stretched and wet, as a favor, his host pulls it all the way off and dismisses it to the floor. 

“Your mouth feels so lovely on me, darlin’.” His thumb creases Dimitri’s lower lip, swollen and rosy from stimulating his sensitive cock. He smears the residual wine over his lips before bringing the thumb into his own mouth to intake the wine. “Can’t wait to cum over those pretty pink lips of yours.”

Soon enough, Claude will get his wish. 

Again he is taken into the warm embrace of his lover’s mouth, he is taken deeper and deeper until he feels the back of Dimitri’s throat. It’s tighter, and once he passes the threshold, he can feel the muscles of his throat constricting against his girth. Dimitri takes him to the hilt, nose buried deep until there’s skin on skin. He pulls back, slowly, so that Claude can feel everything intensely, edging him on. The strings of saliva stretch out of the mouth and cling over his member.

So close, he’s so close.

Dimitri pushes back in, bobbing his head as he continues to pleasure Claude. The obscene sounds stir him on. To know that the pristine musician can engage in such risque behavior is so sexy. As lecherous as Claude is, Dimitri may just have him beat.

No, no, can’t have that. He’s here to show _his_ appreciation and he plans on keeping to that promise.

“I’m, I'm. _Fuck_.” 

Claude falls on his back amidst his release, his cries ringing louder during climax. He spills into the musician’s mouth, allowing his seed to fill those lips and overflow. The muscles of his abdomen contract fiercely before relaxing, allowing the feeling to carry him into a state of ecstasy. His body shakes when he reaches his peak, he’s always been sensitive, especially at the hands of an attentive partner who keeps his needs in mind. 

The laugh that follows is giddy, he is left satisfied by their act of passion, even if their night is far from being over. 

A moment to breathe, that’s all he needs to recollect himself. To allow the jitters overflowing through his body to settle. It’s all he needs. Unfortunately, he isn’t given a moment of repose. He is yanked by the legs, the suddenness of the movement has forced him to land on the piano keys. The second his rear collides with the keys, the combination of notes form an ill sound. Structured with the lower pitch sounds, it creates a momentary somber tone that soon suffocates with their impetuous passion. 

Lips on lips Dimitri robs him of oxygen. Overbearing in his actions, he pushes his tongue into Dimitri’s willing mouth, sharing the taste of his own seed impurified with the flavor of wine. It’s an acquired taste, nevertheless, the gesture is lewd enough to spark an infatuation within him. The texture is slick as its smeared over his teeth and tongue, the sensation of Dimitri’s tongue as it curls into his palate turn him on, and as a result, ends up wrapping his legs around the other’s slim waist. 

Claude takes a hold of Dimitri’s blazer, pulling it down from the shoulders until it reaches his elbows, from there Dimitri had to take the initiative. Reluctantly he let go of his partner to remove the item before going right back in. The breathing from his nostrils is forced, and his chest heaves when he presses his body into Claude’s. Both of them being supported by the piano as they lean into the instrument. They are a duet, their songs of moans and groans being aided by the stray keys of the piano as they rut over said bits.. 

Buttons of the wine stained shirt become undone to reap the delicious body below. His gesture is desperate, all but nearly rips the shirt open to get a feel of the beautiful pecs hiding beneath. Dimitri feels so firm in his hands, his wide chest makes him feel small, and oh how he would love to have his body covered by the man they call Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. 

He feels hands become more daring, hiking up the expanse of his thighs, leading up to the waist and eventually his back, where fingers delicately tread over the spine, urging his body forward in a curve so that they’re pressed against one another. The kissing starts again. The smack of their lips is delicate at first but loses its delicacy the more Dimitri touches. It’s dizzying. His head feels light, his body does too, he curls his toes to regain some feeling during this numbing bliss. 

Claude moans deep into Dimitri’s mouth as he feels his erection prodding against his own flaccid length. He thinks of his early release and how good it had felt, now it’s time to convey just how grateful he is to his number one fan. 

“I want you to claw your name on my back as I ride you.” He admits, the words sounding all too pleasant to the musician’s ears. Dimitri’s heard Claude sing many songs, but not this one, this one is of desire and great need. 

_This song is reserved for him alone._

He’s being lifted, his weight supported by the hands underneath his thighs. Claude wraps his arms around the other’s neck, brushing his lips gingerly against the curve of his ear to whisper, “I want to see you underneath me stuttering my name as you spill inside me.”

He can see it, the moment the storm starts brewing. That blue of his eye is electric, he can feel the chaos pulsating inside him in anticipation. He smiles, empowered to know that his body is able to reduce a man to his most primal urges.

They share a seat on the piano’s bench. A luxurious leather that will no doubt be ruined by their relations. Seated upon his lap, Claude begins to dismiss the rest of Dimitri’s shirt, ridding him of it completely as a bundle on the floor. Next his hands move to the belt buckle as his mouth becomes occupied on the other’s neck. He licks a stripe, the flat of his tongue pressing eagerly against the inviting skin. The sweat he is able to taste, it comes off as brine when taken in in the form of kisses. Such pale flesh bruises so beautifully. It’s darkening spot takes the shade of crimson, the shade of a beating heart, claiming it whole for himself with just a bite. 

He’s wanted him for so long and now he will have him.

_A shudder._

His shaky breath surrounds the hollow of Dimitri's neck. The heat his breathy moan drags out is sensual, eliciting the same response from his partner as he grinds over his pressing need. He felt Dimitri’s fingers delve into the crease of his rear, the press of his fingers is like seering fire on his skin, branding him forever in a memory. What turns the sensation milder is the lubricant, used moments before his arrival in preparation for tonight. A digit eases in with a lack of difficulty since his own fingers had already done the work of stretching himself open. This is the aftermath, something faster and exciting and far less hesitant. 

“You planned for this.” Is Dimitri’s statement. He sounds rather surprised as he tests the thoroughness of Claude's work by pushing his finger deeper. The muscles of his sphincter tighten around the digit with every slight flex, still, he’s worked himself enough that Dimitri is able to add another finger without difficulty. He groans at the addition, now feeling two fingers working in a tangent inside him, curling open and close to earn a reaction out of him. It’s working because the blood rushes to his cock, rousing it into a state of hardness already. 

“I.” _A gasp_. “I did.” His thighs tighten around Dimitri’s sides as the fingers are being pushed in and out of him. “I fantasized about your fingers working me open, I have for a while.” Claude pulls down the zipper and begins to pull out the leading star of his fantasies. Goodness, it’s even bigger than he imagined. “I wanted you to but what can I say I’m impatient.” 

This earns him a kiss, one that he has no intention of refusing. He can feel those fingers ease out of him completely, and finds that that very same hand finds purchase on his hip while the other went to the back of his neck. Dimitri moves, setting Claude’s back gently on the bench while he moves away to settle down on his knees. The furniture was not big enough to house a laying person, so Dimitri placed one of Claude’s legs over his shoulder, the back of the knee currently being supported by him. The other leg didn’t get that treatment, instead, it slouched over the seat. His neck was not supported so it hung over the edge, his hair upside down and away from his face because of it. 

“Then I guess I’ll teach you patience.” Was his only warning before he felt a finger intruding inside him again. A whine is his rebuttal, one that Dimitri did not take kindly, so he adds another one of his fingers, long and thick, pushing their way inside to the hilt, deeper than Claude’s own hand could ever manage. They move in and out of him in quick succession, paired with the lubricant, the sounds of squelching harmonize with his cries of pleasure. 

A third finger is added and Claude swears that he’s on the brink of losing it. The blood in his body is being split off in two directions, his head as it hangs upside down and his cock as it swells with need. He feels so lightheaded and it just ends up with him feeling everything more acutely. The pleasure, it is cultivating into something wild and Dimitri can’t get enough of it. 

His cock twitches when Dimitri touches his prostate, his whole body tenses up as a result, the only thing relieving the tension is a moan so loud that it becomes the envy of any instrument. Dimitri plays him so well. He knows how to use him, how to work his fingers to get the best sound out of him. _Truly an expert in his craft._

“Keep it down, I don’t want my neighbors to hear you.” 

Staying true to his nature, he does just the opposite. 

“But what if I want them to know you’re the reason I'm serenading their ears? My voice will sound so lovely as I cry out your name to the high heavens, it’d be cruel to deprive them of this knowledge.”

Too cruel indeed, that’s why Claude will never settle for anything less. Speaking of settling, the presence inside him dwindles and soon becomes a fleeting touch. He clenches around nothing, his body missing the fingers within. The pressure was pleasurable, but now nothing replaces it, except for the cold stretch of liquid that soaks his outsides. The fabric he wears is absorbent, becoming darker as alcohol stains the wear. His skin feels baptized by the substance. The skin glistens as it becomes covered in rum. Processed sugar making his tone all the more darker. 

The shuffling of clothing informs him that Dimitri is removing the rest of his pants, and hopefully, his undergarments too.

He feels tongue lapping at the excess and dipping into his navel to slurp the abundance there. His stomach coils at the attention, making it hard to ignore his own erection as Dimitri rubs against it on his travels up Claude’s torso.

There is no spot left untouched by a hungry mouth. It literally feels as if he’s being consumed by a deprived man left hungry and to rot. His mouth claims him in ways it shouldn’t be possible, leaving his mark in the form of bites on any available surface. His delicate skin bruises, creating a path that he would later be able to trace in fondness.

Claude bites his lower lip when he feels something wet on his nipple, a tongue, pressing circles around it until it hardens. A gentle suck to bring it further into his partner’s mouth where he would then drag his teeth over it. Dimitri leaves the wet imprint of his mouth on the dress, his nipple erect beneath the fabric. He is then toyed with by having said part pinched and pulled, much to Dimitri’s entertainment, Claude leans into the touch, his whimpers a mess. 

“I need you inside me-“ another gasp as the opposite nipple undergoes a similar treatment. “ **Now**.” With enough emphasis that it should not be left up to interpretation.

With that Dimitri’s mouth is on him again, more specifically on his neck drinking the liquor that remained there. Claude is damp, either from the alcohol or being licked all over, maybe it’s both, either way it’s hot, he’s hot and he feels **hot**. Like he’ll combust at any moment. 

Every kiss is a lit match, something meant to ignite him. He’s already burning, and at this rate he’ll burn everyone with him. He is hellfire, he is Claude Von Riegan.

“What did I say about patience?” Dimitri asks but there’s no answer because the question does not deserve one. 

Claude only whines when he feels Dimitri’s hand go between them, to travel farther down than where Claude is able to see. He lifts his head only to have Dimitri crowd the underside of his chin in a passionate endeavor. With every wet kiss he blows hot air, allowing the skin to cool down and shiver. Then he feels it lining against him, teasing the outside with a prodding inquisitiveness. He feels the head being dragged over his hole, up and down, teasing in its stroke. So close and yet not. The anticipation feels like punishment but knows that once he is given what he wants, he will be met with bliss and all his suffering will be for naught.

“Dimitri.” 

A hand clamps over his mouth, stifling any cries from happening. Dimitri goes in slow because of his generous size. With every inch he pushes into his innards, the wider Claude’s mouth spreads in a cry. He’s big, bigger than three fingers and longer. His insides adjust to accommodate his partner, the stretch, it’s uncomfortable at first, having something inside that isn’t meant to belong. Dimitri bottoms out and Claude feels a swell in his stomach, the head of Dimitri’s cock causing a bulge in the abdomen.

His legs already feel weak, already beginning to grow slack around the blonde’s sides. Dimitri pulls out completely, emptying Claude in the process, leaving his hole red and wanting. He complains but his words are unrecognizable beneath the palm of the other. A short moment later he’s filled again, this time the entry is faster and less gentler than before. There’s a scream, cut down excitedly by the hand at his mouth. Dimitri pulls out entirely again, a give and take. He gives Claude pleasure and then takes it away almost immediately, what an asshole. Now that he has taken, it is time to give, and so he thrusts his way inside, this third time causing Claude’s eyes to roll to the back of his head as something snaps within him, _his control_.

Spit falls down the sides of his face, his mouth slack from being open so long in mind numbing ecstasy. His second orgasm snuck up on him and left his body limp to be fucked into. His own seed continuing to soil the threads of his dress, the rest falling down his length and wetting his thighs. 

Dimitri slowly stops his rhythm once he notices the trembling body beneath him, “again?” he asks, biting down his own excitement. That hand that was used to silence him is pulled away, allowing the other to take in more air through his mouth. His lungs fill with much needed oxygen, it helps the body settle and rest as the tremors deplete. Claude, once able to, sits up, taking the musician by surprise as he moves him to take a seated position facing the piano. His legs feel wobbly as he stands. Panting, he takes a hold of Dimitri’s length, such plentiful girth makes it hard for his fingers to wrap around it, but nevertheless they try. With his back turned to his partner, he begins to ease his way down, Dimitri knowing his intention pulls the skirt out of the way. An adulterated view of the singer’s ass as he comes down on the cock, it spreads him open, bringing out the enjoyment from the slow gesture for both of them.

Fully seated in Dimitri's lap with his cock inside him, it causes a growl to exit from Dimitri's lips. He begins to move, slowly working Dimitri's arousal in up and down movements. His breath catches in his throat, exhaustion making its way known through his sore muscles. With every bouts of movement his thighs strain as it supports the bobbing weight of the torso. 

There is friction on the underside of his thighs and ass as their skin slaps together whenever he takes him in fully. Hip to hip they are connected, but once they come to separate the slick glide upon his cock makes his breath skip. Only when he comes down again, making his ass shake with the force does he feel Dimitri’s hips stutter. Claude’s legs are spread over Dimitri’s lap, his own phallus bounces just as he bounces on Dimitri. Even though he just released his spend a second time, he can feel himself become eager at a much faster rate, as if his high never plateau, it just keeps going, mounting more in place.

Nestled on his lap Claude begins to gyrate his hips, he feels the member inside stir in place hitting sensitive spots that make both of them quiver. 

Hands come to reach past him to lay over the piano, the pale digits reenacting a memory, making sound come to life. He feels Dimitri’s face press against his shoulder, his lips mouthing shy kisses over the expanse. It makes Claude’s skin rise in goosebumps.

Many people have played for him, have played alongside him, but never has anyone played while inside him. He feels Dimitri inside, like a rod, rigid in place upon his insides. Claude leans his head back and finds rest on Dimitri’s shoulder. 

He visualizes the music notes and imagines how they envelop the pair like a bow. The music, it carries him into a state of serenity. He’s always existed under the eyes of many, it’s been so long that he’s forgotten what it’s like to be acknowledged by merely one person. A person of many roles, a fan, a stranger, a lover.

“I want you to press these keys.” Dimitri instructs him, groaning towards the end as Claude moves his hip a certain way.

The musician demonstrates as one would to a beginner, three keys in total, spelling out the beginnings of Moonlight Sonata. Dimitri presses down on two black keys and ends on a white one, the white one more resounding, carrying the note into a transition for the notes to repeat once more. 

Claude tries and at first the pacing’s off. Too quick on his fingers, too excited as he’s splayed on cock. He begins to murmur once Dimitri moves inside him, a subtle switch in angle as he readjusts himself to better reach the piano. 

They perform together. Claude with his three notes and Dimitri carrying the rest of the song wistfully with his expert hands. 

This is special because Dimitri introduces him into his world, making him out to be more than just a cocksleeve. He feels thought of, and cared of, and knowing that makes it hard to hide his smile.

Claude improves his pace as the song cycles it’s beginning over and over. They play for minutes on end until he feels the man behind him stirring, his wide chest rumbling with every growl. 

The song abruptly stops when hands come to his chest to squeeze, longing to replace the firm keys with something softer. Long fingers slide underneath the fabric to stimulate the area underneath. To rub them, pinch them, he does it all and Claude’s body jerks accordingly, tightening around the musician’s girth.

The singer does what he does best, sing. A perfect pitch meant to arouse Dimitri, the coupled moans filling the room like music. Nothing beats a live performance, the raw energy, the talent, it is not something that can be placed in a disk, it must be demonstrated. And that’s what Dimitri does when he makes Dimitri’s member disappear inside him, swallowing him whole until they become one. Singer and instrumentalist, one’s performance heightens the other to create an unforgettable sequence.

Dimitri’s hands trace the silhouette of Claude’s body until they eventually rest at his hips. They take their time, savoring each ridge of a rib, appreciating every muscle they come in contact with, it’s all about patience in the end. The fingers dig into the skin, controlling the pace at which Claude’s hips move. 

Again, he is an instrument at the hands of a master. He slows the pace, making sure the stretch of Claude’s hole is slow as he comes down on his girth and the same when he travels up. The slide is easier as his dick becomes wetter inside Claude. Nothing feels better than this so of course he tries to postpone the inevitable end. 

“ ‘m close.” A high pitch whine. Claude leans forward, bracing himself on Dimitri’s knees as he picks up the tempo, curving his back to facilitate the way he fucks himself on Dimitri’s cock. Claude looks back watching how his ass bounces on it, and the thin stretch of slick that comes from their interconnected parts. His cheeks are a rosy shade to match Dimitri’s flustered skin. Those hips of his are red, and so is his face, ears and chest. Whenever the blood rushes it’s so much simpler to see on pale skin, especially on a cock, as it blooms so close to climax. 

They make eye contact, and for whatever reason Dimitri’s eyes appear so hazy. Perhaps it’s because he moves, blurring his perception entirely for some seconds. Claude finds himself held up by the hips as Dimitri fucks him from behind. He holds on to the piano to brace himself, to weather out the storm behind him as it relentlessly thrusts into him. He stands on his toes, moaning till his heart's content. Dimitri shows no signs of stopping soon, he just seems to pick up the pace, withdrawing a few short inches only to inject himself back in with haste. To feel the curve of Claude’s rear cushion his pelvis, to hit his lower bit raw and feel his tightness.

Heat drapes over his back in the form of a human body, nestled close and personal until he’s able to perceive lips at the shell of his ear. Each word a murmur, low and raspy as he’s continued to be worked over down under.

“I want us to cum together.” A plea? **A demand.**

His own body so sweaty, even more now with the culmination of another body added on to him. Front to back they’re stuck together as their bodies slide into one another in synchrony. Some gasps come frequently, airily light with each stutter of failed sentences. So much to say, and yet when Dimitri presses eagerly against his gland, it erases every word, every thought, every intention clear from his mind.

His mind presently devoid of thought, a dark and blank slate for Dimitri to use, to force a sense of pleasure upon his being. Claude is unable to feel for himself, he’s unable to stand for himself. Right now his body feels heavy, it just wants to sink to the ground so his own feet don’t support him. An immeasurable lust, so weighted it physically drags him down, so he clings to the piano to remain upright.

A hand comes to wrap around his cock, so whenever Dimitri thrusts into him, he in turn thrusts into the hand. It takes a hold of him tightly, pumping him, forcing him to shut those tired eyes and see the white stars mapped inside the lids. 

“I’m. I’m not.” He won’t last long enough for Dimitri to finish at his side. His conclusion rearing its head and waits for no one. 

The neatness of his hair becomes undone. Every styled piece loses its conformity and reverts back to its curled textures. Sweating out the heat, the dampness of his head causing the hair to stick to clammy skin. 

This is what happens when two strangers meet. This is not the ideal night of romance whose passionate affairs to read in a romance title, this is a night of filthy sex. 

Claude cries, legit cries during his third release. Tears brimming from the corners of his eyes, falling down the sides of his face. Crystalline droplets cultivate from pleasure, their existence evanescent as Claude fazes out of his euphoria. The transition is a trial, his body does not

clench as it normally would, instead, it becomes more pliant, easier to mold and be fucked into without resistance. His shaking persists, from his arms all the way down to his legs, the toes, they still curl when every nerve in his body is overloaded. Claude inhales deeply through his mouth, pushing the stomach inward, feeling the slide of Dimitri’s cock as it rearranges his organs.

Claude tries reaching back, placing his hand against Dimitri’s thigh. Fingernails digging inward into the muscle, to discourage the thrusts dragging out his orgasm. It’s continuous, he feels himself leaking still, coating Dimitri’s fingers like bands of wedding rings. 

“ _Stoooooop_.” Claude whines as his knees give out in this heated moment. Dimitri, still standing, supports his partner’s dead weight, the pace of his hips slowing down enough to see Claude’s hole stretched and heated, sorely red as it encompasses his girth. 

Dimitri has yet to cum.

“Lay down on the floor.” Claude states, exhausted, but still alive with the intention of turning his teasing into a reality.

Dimitri does what he is told because in the end, he always caters to satiate Claude’s needs. He looks so good down below, so needy as he waits for Claude to bring him over the edge. If this were only the beginning he would take his time, find out what he likes and what he doesn’t, to exploit the good and create a withering mess out of this man, and use punishment to exert his power, all in good fun of course. But right now is not the time, their bodies are too spent to do more than what is required. They’ve been at it for hours, and like all things good it too must come to an end. 

The phallus is still erect, giving its standing ovation to Claude and his wonderful performance up to this point. So thick, the veins sizing it up, making it appetite inducing. Claude stands above him wearily, his sperm trailing down the length of his legs as he commences to settle down on his knees. He grabs Dimitri's length and lines him to his entrance, where he slinks down, slowly enrapturing him within his heat. 

The blonde arches his back once he bottoms out, pale hands finding purchase over the bruised fingerprints previously laid on Claude’s sides. From this perspective, the singer can view and engage with his audience and he does so by resting his palms on Dimitri’s chest. The man beneath is used as leverage as he rides him, his pelvis snapping in place as he takes Dimitri whole again, and again, and again until Dimitri expresses his sexual pleasure. Relishing the fact Claude is riding him, swiveling his hips, and grinding in short and quick paced struts. 

Dimitri enjoys it best whenever Claude’s body jolts, it is the best reaction when the head of his cock makes contact with the prostate. A fleeting sensation, the thrill in the chase as Dimitri’s orgasm nears. The blonde’s shoulders hunch as his arms pick up the slack when Claude begins to slouch, his thighs fatigued when their duty becomes increasingly onerous. By doing so the singer’s posture is rectified, his torso upright as he is plummeted down over such a generous filling.

“S-say it.” Dimitri chokes out, as he is left winded by the man above him. “My name.” He clarifies, biting at his lower lip, keeping his climax at bay until he hears it. So red in the face, his body wound so tight until he hears what he wants to hear.

_Claude will not keep him waiting._

“Dimitri, Dimitri, Dimitri, Dimitri.” A chant for all to hear, bellowed so high and loud that the sleeping gods above should wake from it. 

At that he feels nails rake down his back, leaving behind excited lines that map out his partner’s enjoyment. Dimitri is cumming, and it is an offering, much like a believer would leave to a higher power. Not shy with his rations, Dimitri fills Claude up, covering every soft inch of the insides with his essence. Claude’s stomach becomes a little bloated with the plethora of semen, even as the excess spills out from the orifice it was shot into. 

It’s so hot watching Dimitri unravel beneath him, losing his sense of self as he spurts his hot seed inside Claude, moaning, grunting as he does so. It excites Claude to the point that cum trickles out of his cock, something pathetic compared to the impressive load within him.

Once the singer gained his wits he commented, “a decent performance wouldn’t you say?” 

“Your best performance yet.” DimitrI responds, panting. 

This elicited a laugh out of the Riegan. He leaned down to kiss him on the lips, anything he had left to give was given then. Their smiles translate well into their affections, a slip of the tongue to form a tie as it wraps around a gift. The gift in question? This perfect night.

Claude collapses over Dimitri, laying on his side as he drapes himself over the other, palm over a fast beating heart rate as they occupy the floor.

“ _Dorothea was right. I did like the dress._ ”

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
